


You're Still a Man

by IwriteDreams



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Fluff, Hurt and comfort, Komahina - Freeform, M/M, Trans Male Character, post sdr2, trangender hinata, trans!hinata
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 04:56:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11616330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IwriteDreams/pseuds/IwriteDreams
Summary: A sad request I did on my tumblr, tw: Trans Hinata





	You're Still a Man

Hinata has never been fond of waking up with blood between his legs. It’s uncomfortable and defeating. It hurts, his stomach folding in on itself, the sweat and the musky scent hanging on his sheets.

It’s an insult, actually. It’s insulting to know that his body will never bend to his will, no matter how many tears he cries. He can barely shift up without wincing in disgust. It’s so repulsive, it makes him want to sink back into bed and pray away whatever fucked up part of reality dictated his genitalia. He didn’t like identifying as a transgender. He wasn’t trans, he was a boy, and everybody addressed him as such. He had no ties to being a girl- ever.

Well, he wished he hadn’t. The universe seemed to defy his determination.

No matter how masculine he was now, or how many times he was called and deemed a ‘he’, he would wake up with sour smelling blood between his legs, and a pain in his gut every two weeks. It wasn’t something that vanished with the title that really belonged to him.

He sits up and peels away the thin white sheets, his heart jumping up when he sees red drops tainting the thin fabric. One it is off, he manages a proper look at himself. Red stains his dark blue underwear, and there is a stickiness between his thighs.

Immediately he lets out a hoarse growl because he hates this. He hates himself, everything. It’s utter bullshit that he has to go through with this. He wants to punch his window and break the glass. Break something. He doesn’t care.

He sits up, casting a look downwards again, and feels both rage and sadness sweep him up, like the weight of this problem alone would engulf him and wash him away to the sea, where he would drown in it, and he would never be anything more or less than the one transgender kid. The one who was different, or a liar, or somebody who didn’t abide by the proper rules. The one who was supposedly always going to have a “hidden feminine side”- he feels the sudden urge to throw up.

It takes him a moment for him to remember that this isn’t the first time, and it won’t be the last that he feels this kind of dysphoria. He has beaten this before, and for now, he should go wash all this blood off. Periods were less an inconvenience like they were for some people and more of a curse for Hinata. Something to remind him that he can never and will never be the one thing he was meant to be his whole life, no matter how hard he tries. Being “unique” doesn’t appeal to him either. He doesn’t want to be “the special boy” he just wants to be a man. Or, rather than wanting it- he wants to be what he was always meant to be. It isn’t hard to understand, but it is impossible to reach now, and he stands up with a small groan of pain and marches to the shower in shamefully bloody underwear.

It’s only when the water starts running, and he’s blinking all the sleep out of his eyes that he suddenly realizes that a shower won’t make it any better. It’s going to make it worse. Far, far worse. Still, he’d rather have his blood off of him, so he starts unbuttoning his shirt by muscle memory, trying not to look down. His sleep solidified fingers have some trouble guiding the buttons out of their sockets, but he manages to remove it, and immediately throws it over the mirror. He’s hoping he won’t have to look at himself any longer then he absolutely has to. Unfortunately, in tossing it over the lip of it, he does catch a brief glimpse of his chest and grimaces immediately.

It’s so disgusting.  
Mikan, bless her, was nice enough to offer him a breast removal surgery for free, which was an offer he took up immediately, but the scars would never fade away. While he’s glad he’ll never have to wear a binder again as long as he lives, he will always carry the visual reminder of the volume his chest he once had. Knowing that he can’t even do anything to rid himself of something like that, ugly black puncture wounds from stitches, and the bags of skin sculpted over a different shape than they were grown to cover… It was a feeling he dreaded. It was so close yet so far away from the goal of his own personal mission. He steps into the shower, as he tugs off undergarments, not looking, never looking down. All his experiences showering forces him to keep his eyes trained upwards. Look at the wall, not down, never down.

He feels the water drumming at the skin of his feet as he steps in, starting up, studying the blurry labels of his hygiene products. Not down. Never down. He dunks his head under the water and almost smiles as he feels the water pelting down a flatter chest than he should have. It really was generous of Mikan, but it’s still not perfect. At least she’s kept the secret for him. It’s something he really appreciates. However, it still makes him bitter when the water traces over smooth, numb cuts.

He tries to hurry it, but that requires looking down at himself, and the tsunami of emotions feels even more real with the water running over his shoulders. He glances over at the mirror without thinking about it, to see a bit of his abdominal, and nothing else. Which is refreshing, but sad that he’d felt the need to cover it up.

No matter where he looks, or thinks, or feels it all comes pointing back to one undeniable fact. The world meant for you to be a woman.

He tries not to think of it like that. Tries to tell himself that this, what he has now is alright, but it never quite works the way he wants it too. So many problems with loose ends and nothing he can do will ever tie them up.

He gets about halfway through his shower before he shuts off the water, slams his foot rather forcibly into the floor, wishing the tile would crack under his foot, and he stalks out, pulling his shirt off the mirror, and facing himself for who he is.

What he isn’t.

The scars just look like shadows now, a couple gaudy streaks, with punctures from the stitches that used to be there, just a couple weeks ago. Mikan said it was easier than constant bandaging, and even after a month and a half Hinata believes her. Still, the bruises, bluish and purple, from leftover remains of missing flesh catches his eyes. Greenish tones with reddish browns were what should’ve been there was cut away like excess fat on an animal. It’s still unnatural to look at, and he can feel his own disappointment swamp him as it drenches him from head to toe.

He doesn’t look lower than the waist. He’s already feeling father shaken this morning, and he doesn’t need to burst into tears before he’s been awake for 10 minutes.

“Shit.”

It’s all he can manage to say, as his fingertips unknowingly catch on the dark lines. He hates it all so much, it’s better than a binder. This is as good as he can get, he knows that, but at the same time… he wishes that it could be as easy as flipping a switch.

He remembers briefly that his avatar in the program- that it had been a male. Properly. He wants it back so badly. He wants that kind of confidence back.

He growls again, fists curling and uncurling a couple of times before he rips his eyes away from the mirror, and skirts out of the bathroom, tugging a shirt over his shoulders, as he starts to button it up.

He wants to die, or crawl in a hole, and then die there. He hates himself, his body, what he stands for, the things the universe dictates that he will and won’t be. It really shouldn’t be a decision beyond his grasp.

But like every other concupiscible goal, it was.

He tries to keep his hand steady and maintain his composure. He’s already upset. He has to scrabble with tight jeans and underwear above a part of himself he can never bear to look at between his legs. He can feel shame spiking into his skin as if done by a nail and hammer, as he realizes he’s going to need a pad. He refuses to even touch a tampon.

Those are things for women, which Hinata is not.

Simple laws.

It takes him way too damn long to get his jeans on, because he only blindly gropes around for the zipper and button, and somehow, manages to slip a pad in place. All while taking short intervals of time to stop, look away, and breathe because it is too early in the damn morning to be met with this kind of dysphoria, this kind of intense discomfort. Hinata, come on. Think about literally anything else, it doesn’t always have to come back to this.

Once he’s thoroughly humiliated, a large pad compressed uncomfortably in his jeans between his thighs, he feels again as though he wants to get back into bed. That, however, wouldn’t be productive, and Nagito would probably try to come by later anyways, and it would cause more trouble if he walked in on Hinata sobbing than it would if Hinata just went to him now.

Nagito is Hinata’s biggest supporter, and his only supporter, aside from Mikan. They were the only two who knew about it.

He doesn't bother with footwear. He isn’t bleeding through his pants anymore, and honestly, not much else matters to him. Nagito is next door anyways, and while his feet yelp complaints when being pressed to the baking boardwalk, that pain was the very least of his long list of agonizing grievances. He can barely see in the sun- it’s so bright that when he skids around the bend, he has to squint down and stare at his feet.

He still skims over the ground in a hurry, wanting to get out of the sun before anybody asks him to come to breakfast, and make his unbeknownst insecurities some public service announcement. He doesn’t even bother to knock, which would be considered bad etiquette to anybody- except for, luckily, Nagito. Nagito had instated an topen door policy when they started dating, where if Hinata ever needed something, Nagito promised he’d be there to help, and while Hinata finds it very invasive and has never once utilized the policy, he really does like the idea of coming in and out of the cottage freely, with Nagito always waiting for him.

Once he closes the door to Nagito’s room behind him, he scans over the boy sitting on his bed with a book, legs tucked under himself, his shoulders laden with a blanket. Harsh sunlight is dripping through the glass of the window, and it seems as if there isn’t a single sound to be heard until Hinata makes his appearance. The door breaks whatever serene atmosphere Nagito had delicately set.

“Hinata… hey,” Came his easy voice. Just hearing it made Hinata realize that his shoulders were tense, practically around his neck. “Come in.”

Nagito flips the cover of the book out of its place and sandwiches it between the pages he had been reading to mark it for later, before setting it down on the floor, already anticipating Hinata as he sat down beside him.

There isn’t a second to settle in before Hinata’s arms are wrapped low around Nagito’s waist, and his face is buried against his shoulder. He can’t pinpoint when exactly his hands start to give way to some semblance of shaking, but they sure as hell aren't still. There’s even less delay to when Nagito has Hinata caught in his grasp, holding onto the back of his shirt, one metal hand digging into his hair. Chrome and steel joints catch on his hair, and cold fingertips brush over his scalp.

There aren’t any questions. Hinata doesn’t want to answer any, and Nagito doesn’t feel the need to ask. This feels more like an excuse for them, rather than any kind need. Hinata sighs into him because Nagito’s probably already aware of what’s happening.

HInata’s inhaling the faint scent of Nagito’s coat and shampoo and he suddenly needs to bite back angry remarks and the blossoming of what feels to be tears. He can’t afford to give in now- there’s no point, and it only causes trouble for Nagito. Who, if somebody had to put up with this at all, is the last man he’d like to have to deal with it.

Nagito’s heart is thudding away. He can feel it in his chest with the hand that raises to settle over it. Hinata can taste his own, beating in his throat as Nagito cradles him close. He looks a little content, actually, having Hinata walk in unannounced to throw himself on the bed so willingly for this. It’s so… nice. Hinata can feel his mind get warm and fuzzy, and clumsy and he can’t really find any will to string together any thoughts beyond how nicely Nagito fits into his arms. He can’t piece together much more than that. In fact, he sees no reason to.

“Hey… is it that time again?” comes one of the most carefully worded questions that Nagito has ever posed to him. Sometimes it feels as though he doesn’t think at all before going on about one thing or another- typically about hope- that it’s just some spontaneous, incoherent mess coming from a shell of despair. However, Hinata knows better, and almost everything Nagito used to say was playing some critical part in some fragile, yet successful mind game.

Nowadays, everything feels so dumbed down, so subdued. Like it, all didn't matter anymore to Nagito. It became so easy when he wasn’t broken, or screaming, or dead…

Hinata almost forgot the fact that he was supposed to be answering a question, as he pulled some affirmative hum out of somewhere. He’s hit the nail on the head, of course. It still doesn’t make Hinata feel any better about the subject at hand, but it’s pleasing to know that Nagito knows him so well as to not need to ask too much.

“I’m sorry,” Comes his response. It’s slightly condescending, but Hinata tries to not think about it. He doesn’t like to take the pity in his voice. It makes him feel even more lost than he already was, but there isn’t much else Nagito can honestly do for him. No miracle could make everything okay. His attitude and acceptance toward the fact that Hinata is not what he appears can only help. Never fix.

“What are you gonna do?” And really, it’s a good question. Hinata hopes that Nagito plans on doing something about it for him. Something to make him feel better, and even if it’s just that they stay here, holding each other for the whole lazy morning, that’s enough. Improvement is enough.

“I don’t know if there is anything I can do Hinata.” He admits, and Hinata takes a brief moment to shift a bit closer, and a little more towards his front, feeling stray hairs tickle his cheeks. “I am open to suggestions.”

Hinata feels a pressure building up, and he wants to ignore it. Unfortunately for him, it’s like denying the fact that the door of a dam has opened up, and the tsunami crashes down with a sharp snapping over the surface of the river below.

“I hate this.” He growls. “I hate it so damn much.”

“Hinata…”

“I shouldn’t need your help! I should be well over this! But here you are, having to deal with this shit, because for some reason I’m still upset that my body says something about me that it shouldn’t! I’m still so upset about it! Why does-” The floodgates have opened for sure, and the water is spilling out of mismatched eyes, coming on faster than he’d care to admit. He feels Nagito clutching at his back, as he tried to muffle the sobbing noises he’s started to make into the corner of Nagios collarbone. He loves and hates how well adjusted they both are to this. This isn’t a big deal or anything to worry about in the long terms. Not the first or last time it will happen but-

“Nagito… how can you even bear to look at me?”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out as self-defeating as it really sounds. However, Nagito’s hands still, and he can almost feel Nagito go rigid, even without Nagito having been moving in the first place. As if the mere concept that Hinata being so uncomfortable in his own skin to the point where he believes everybody else sees it too is some fucked up joke, rather than the evident circumstances before his very eyes. Hinata’s probably blowing this out of proportion, but then and there, he doesn’t feel like he is, and he doesn’t stop.

“It’s easy, Hinata…” He’s whispering softly, gazing at him gently. “I love to look at you. You’re so handsome and strong…”

“Stop applying words to me that are meant for men.” He spits. He really doesn’t want Nagito to stop, not by a mile, but he feels the need to bitterly convey the fact that everything about this is so unfair.

“Hinata… There is nothing in this world that will ever stop me from calling you handsome.” Nagito’s neck is rather nice. Sharp and bony, but strangely kissable, in his humble opinion. He is glad that he doesn’t have to look Nagito in the eye for any of this. Taking to a blanket of fluffy hair is far more easy-going. The conversation really flows that way.  
“Why not?”

“Because I could never lie to you.” Hinata can almost hear the pout. He had to admit though, Nagito was far more of the helpless romantic then he would’ve initially thought, never failing to remind him of his love. He might’ve thought it would come off as a little strong, but it turned out to be more refreshing than anything. Not to mention flattering.

“I am so, so gay, dear God,” Came a quiet mumble to himself, and Nagito seems to relax again as he says it. Nagito’s hand, the real one, starts to rub his back in small little circles. “I love you so, so much.”

Hinata can hear the pleading emotion in his last words, jumping out and grabbing onto him, but the part that really caught his attention stuck for a while. “Nagito… You- You’re not really gay. If you love me.”  
“Hinata… what are you trying to say?” His words almost slide around. “Well… I know what you’re saying… but please, you’re kidding yourself.”

“In what way?”

“You are very mistaken if you think I would ever view you as a female… Why would I ever?” In his defense, his voice makes it sound as if the idea is about as alien as he claims, but Hinata’s never sure.

“Nagito- really. You were shocked when I told you.”

“Because it seemed unbelievable to me, Hinata, you misunderstand. I still see you the very same.”

Hinata does understand it, and they both share that as common knowledge. Sometimes though, you need to say these things aloud as confirmation again and again to make a point, rather than bringing anything new to the table.

Nagito sucked in a breath, and Hinata is wondering if it’s girlish of him to not be looking Nagito in the eye right now, a rather stinging, barbed notion.

“You know… I honestly am so, so proud of you for getting that surgery. You needed that so badly, and you are taking the steps in the right direction… you really are a very impressive man.”

“A man…?”  
“Hinata, you can’t discredit yourself just because you’re feeling upset. Nobody but me and Mikan can even tell.”

Hinata couldn’t refute that, something Nagito was well aware of. If there was room to argue, he would.

“I still can’t stand it.”

Nagito sighed something bitterly in his ear, and gently pushed him off. It was far harder to look Nagito when he did this. Nagito looked somewhat exhausted, and he bets it wasn’t because it was the morning. “Hinata… take off your shirt…”

His face lights up with heat. “I beg your pardon?” What kind of guilt-tripping kink is this?

“No! Not like that! Just… Just do it.”

“That literally doesn’t explain anything.”

“Please?”  
“Fine.”

He’d usually put up way more of a fight if it’s about taking off his shirt, but he never can find many excuses to fight Nagito. Even if it’s to do something he’s viscerally uncomfortable with.

He retracts his grip and raises his fingers to the buttons. He might be shaking again, he isn’t sure. He hates the thought of showing Nagito his still-bruised skin, still scarred and filthy, but Nagito’s watching him so intently, he can tell that there would be no deterring him now.

“You do it,” He blurts out when dislocating the first button takes five times the energy it really should. It takes him a split second for to realize that he’s just demanded that Nagito unbuttons his shirt for him, which could be interpreted in a very different way than intended. Thankfully, it isn’t mentioned the way Hinata’s fumbling with in his head, and Nagito’s hands are halfway done opening the shirt before Hinata can think any better of it.

Hinata’s turning away. He’s not going to sit there and watch Nagito gawk at him like some zoo animal. Like the freak from the circus that he probably is in the eyes of the rest of society. He knows what he’s done, and he knows what he wants. It’s unfortunate that it doesn’t line up with what society has deemed appropriate yet.

He feels the last button go loose, and he hears a low gasp from Nagito. He speaks to the space over his shoulder again. It’s a nice wall behind him, light and smooth…

“Hinata… I seriously can’t figure out what you’re so upset about.”

“So what? I’m not allowed to be upset?! Is this not important to you?!” He snaps. He still isn’t looking. He wouldn’t look down for 1.5 million dollars.

“Hinata, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“It sure sounds like it’s what you meant.”

He doesn’t exactly know why he’s being so rude to Nagito because he didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe he’s just being defensive. He remembers as he stares at the wall that he is in tears. He’s not hiccuping or blubbering as he’d feared, but there still is a certain insecurity to weeping before Nagito, of all people, about something he really can’t change, silently or not.

He sees Nagito move downwards out of his peripheral vision, lower. “What the hell are you doing?” he almost squeaks, and his eyes are not trained on Nagito when suddenly, something's pressing right to the bruised, black and blue, still-sore lines of his chest around the scars. His chest still feels unnaturally shallow, even after a month and a half but…

“Fuck… Nagito, what-?”

He never can finish that thought, because Nagito’s kissing along the lines of scars. It’s light enough not to hurt but certainly rough enough to feel it.

Hinata looks down.

HIs chest still looks too shallow to be his own, which is nice. What’s even better is Nagito’s lips delicately peppering the bluish marks. The ones that he hates, and can’t wait to be rid of, yet were such a relief when he first got them…

“Hinata…” Nagito sighs between kisses, HInata's hands loop around Nagito’s back, and he watches him do his work carefully. “I don’t understand what you were so worried about.”  
Only because he’s entirely self-conscious now, and because any and all sense of coherence has escaped him, he sighs. “I… I’m honestly not sure either.”

“I mean… you have the chest of a man.”

Nagito shows no signs of stopping anytime soon, and Hinata sits back, pretending he isn’t turned on because now is not the time to ruin this.

“You have the voice of a man…”

Hinata takes a brief moment to note that his clear head is now wobbling between his ears. He can just tell that right now he’s capable of no complex thoughts whatsoever.

“You act like a man.”

There’s something about hearing his boyfriend say that that makes Hinata cringe a little. All at himself, of course, but it’s still there. He’s trying to adjust to too much too fast, and it’s doing a solid number on him.

“You say you’re a man…”  
Hinata also loves the way Nagito chooses to say "man" instead of "boy". He feels like that’s giving him a little bit of verification. Like the problem is more mature, and not childish. He isn’t a boy, but a man.

He then remembers that most people call males “MEN” after they’ve had sex. Hinata gags a little bit at that. Not because he would mind Nagito having… intercourse with him, but with his body, sex has never been as fairytale perfect as he wishes it were.

“You are a man to me…”

The voice is somewhat commanding, which is strange, knowing it’s coming from a man who’s kissing the underside of his chest, with frazzled white hair, and a short shelf life.

Hinata can’t help it, Nagito’s suddenly wiping away tears, kissing his way up, and Hinata is almost giggling. He didn’t need Nagito to solve his problems, he needed him to remind him that something like his gender wasn’t a problem. It was something he’d deal with time and time again, but between them, there wasn’t any discourse. It didn’t matter to Nagito. It should never change anything.

“You are a man Hinata… Never tell yourself otherwise.”

He feels Nagito’s chaste kisses on the underside of his chin, tilting his head up a little bit. It’s probably defined as ‘body worship’ if you bother to pull out a dictionary, but Hinata views it as ‘body verification.’

He might be disappointed with his body for the rest of his life, at various times, and that’s a weight he’s going to have to shoulder himself. It’s never a ‘one size fits all’. He knows and has hope though, that nobody on the outside will ever feel that way about him, and will love him through thick and thin. It may not be his definition of perfect, but he’s never going to let it stop him.

**Author's Note:**

> You can request me for stories on the 10th of August again, at iwriteyousequal on tumblr


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